


it's just too much to never wake up

by onourown



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Bucket List, Falling In Love, First War with Voldemort, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, dealing with death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-29 05:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18218768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onourown/pseuds/onourown
Summary: Sirius, taxed with the inevitability of his own death, decides to create a "bucket list".  Rounding it out, the proposition of falling in love hangs heavily in the air. The only problem being he isn't sure he knows how.





	1. these roads are paved with plans we've made

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Wait, Wait, Wait" by the Format. Give it a listen!

“Do you ever think about dying?”

The smoke in their hazy shared room seemed to still for a minute. Lights low, sitting in a semi- circle, the joint passed between the hands of the four friends gathered there. Everyone seemed to pause a moment, perhaps thinking over what was said, perhaps deciding if it would be too much bother to conjure up a glass of water for their suddenly very dry mouth.

The tip of the paper illuminated a red glow as one boy continued his drag, before slowly exhaling, stifling a dry cough, and cracking into a plentiful laugh.

“Merlin, Pads. Why must you always get so existential after just one hit?” James asked, passing the joint to Peter’s sweaty hand next to him.

Sirius rolled his eyes, and reached to snatch the joint from Peter’s fingers, ignoring his fervent protests. “I haven’t had just one hit.”

He pressed the joint to his lips. “I’ve just been thinking about it, is all.”

He stared off into the closed window, thinking that someone really should open it, it was getting quite smokey in there, before taking another slow drag. “Do you reckon you’ll come back as a ghost? And-and...what do you think happens to the ghosts, anyway?”

He paused, still staring at the window, at the waning crescent moon and stars he could make out behind the sheet of glass. “When the sun blows up in a trillion years or what have you. Will they just be floating around in space for all of eternity? Will they be able to hang around together, or will they be dispersed throughout the universe...alone, no one to-”

“Please, someone make him shut up,” Remus interrupted, as he stood to cross the room to the window, letting the smoke out and the cool autumn air in. 

“Oh, but Moony, I thought you loved it when I got all intellectual,” Sirius responded, before finally passing the joint back over to Peter.

“Yes, I suppose if the day ever came when such a thing occurred, I would love it.” Remus turned from the window and went to rejoin the other boys on the ground, crossing his long legs elegantly, and lifting the joint from Peter’s hand.

“Oi!” Peter stared at Remus, shock painted over his red face. “How am I ever meant to get a buzz on when you lot are being so bloody selfish?”

“It’s for your own good, Wormy,” James assured him, accepting the passed joint from Remus. “You know how you get when you smoke too much.”

Sirius was sure they could all remember the day Peter had, indeed, smoked too much (or at least, as much as the rest of them), and had spent the next day in his rat form, missing all of his classes (for which they had to employ many of their best excuses), and hiding under the couch in the common room.

Eventually, Mary Macdonald’s cat began to swat underneath it in search of him, which only set to make Peter more afraid. It took several pieces of cheese, enough catnip to subdue a tiger (or at the least, a very large house cat), and Remus’s freakishly long arms to eventually retrieve him out from under it.

“It was only one time! I’ll never be able to build up a tolerance if no one even lets me hit it more than once!” Peter crossed his arms, staring off into the corner with a small frown on his face, growing redder by the minute.

“I’ll tell you what,” Sirius started, finally conjuring a glass and filling it with water. He really was parched. “Next time you buy the weed, and you can smoke as much as you’d like.”

They continued to smoke in relative silence, finally passing the joint over to Peter who, predictably, took too big of a hit and delved into a fit of coughs. It was not a very comfortable silence, punctuated as it was by the coughing. But it was also uncomfortable in another way, because Sirius was still Thinking.

That could sometimes be a good thing, as it would predate him saying things like “Do you ever wonder where Remus is always off to...around the full moon?”, or “I wonder what we could do to help. What if we become Animagi?”, or “I wish we had some sort of map, then we could always tell when Filch is coming.”

But not this time. No, this was the sort of thinking that normally ended up in “I’ve got a brilliant idea for a prank on the Slytherin common room”, or “How many Pepper Imps do you reckon I can eat before I burn my tongue off?”, or “Perhaps we should all dye our hair neon orange.” He vibrated with nervous energy, he could feel it coming off in waves as he refilled his glass with more water and downed it all in one gulp.

“I think I need to make a list.”

James peered at him from the floor, where his head was propped up on pillows he’d swiped from Remus’s bed. “And what sort of list would that be?”

“A list of things I’d like to do. You know, before I bite it.”

“Do you mean like a bucket list?” Remus supplied, pulling the pillows out from under James’s head and propping his feet up on them.

“A bucket list?” Sirius looked at him as if he had gone insane, and James rubbed his head which had hit the ground rather hard. “What on earth does this have to do with buckets?”

“It’s from the idiom ‘kicking the bucket’. Muggles used to execute each other by having the condemned stand on a bucket with a noose around their neck, then they’d...well,” Remus paused for a moment before crossing one ankle over the other on top of his reclaimed pillows. “They’d kick the bucket away and the poor bastard would strangle to death.”

“Bloody hell, Moony. Is this the sort of thing they’re teaching impressionable young minds in Muggle Studies?” James mumbled, still lying with his head on the ground, seemingly not feeling like moving it. Or perhaps he was concussed. Either way.

Sirius half-listened to the two of them, as Remus explained he had, of course, read it in some dusty old book, and Sirius drank another glass of water. As it were, drinking three glasses of water in such quick succession did not bode well for his bladder, and he stepped over the pile of boy on the dormitory floor and into the bathroom. The stone felt like ice on his bare feet, and he firstly cursed Remus for opening the window and letting all that cold air in, and secondly himself for his penchant to kick his socks off and into the ether when he felt the slightest bit restless.

He sighed as he washed his hands, staring up at himself in the mirror. It seemed impossible that he would someday be here, as he was, eyes tinged red and hair out of place, and then someday be _not_ here. Somewhere else entirely. It scared him, he supposed, although he wasn’t sure who it didn’t scare. It was scary to think of not being, but even worse to think of not doing all the things he wanted to do _before_ the not being.

But what did he want to do? He’d already accomplished a lot, and he was only 17. Nine O’s on his OWLs, became an unregistered Animagus at 15, ran away from home at 16, and he was a world class cartographer, although the only people in the world who knew were in the room over. It didn’t really bother him, all things considered. They were the only ones who mattered anyway.

Did he want to make some mark on the world? The war bloomed around them, staining the edges of their lives like tobacco smoke did parchment. Who would remember him, if he were to fall in it, and his friends with him?

The thought was overwhelming, stealing the air from his lungs, and for a moment he felt as though he would die then and there, in the Seventh Year Boy’s Toilets. He shook his head, and splashed cool water from the tap onto his face, bringing him back to this moment, and resolutely marched back into the room.

The war wouldn’t take everything from him. He would have this, at least, another year with his friends in the place that he loved. He would write the list, and he would complete it, and he would be happy and accomplished and ready to fight.

And he would find his socks.

* * *

**Sirius Black’s List of Things to Do Before He Inevitably Croaks (which has nothing to do with buckets, thank you very much)**

  1. Work out the enchantments for motorbike
  2. Cook a four course French meal
  3. Finally finish War and Peace
  4. Keep a plant alive for more than a month
  5. Learn at least one song on guitar
  6. Find one more hidden passageway in Hogwarts
  7. Learn to knit (perhaps a pair of very warm socks?)
  8. Watch a film in a real muggle cinema
  9. Do one great thing for each of your friends to make them very happy
  10. Fall in love?



The question mark hung at the end of number ten; daunting, frightening, exciting. Punctuational.

He had never been in love.

He hadn’t really felt much love, for most of his life. Growing up, he had felt expectations, standards, adherence; never affection, admiration, or understanding. But he knew what it was now, to love.

To have a family.

He felt it every time James patted him on the shoulder when he got up from breakfast to rush off to quidditch practice, and everytime Peter laughed at one of his terrible jokes as if it was the funniest thing in the world, or whenever Remus would share a smile with him that made him feel understood. Yes, he had felt _that sort_ of love 

And there had been girls. No shortage of girls, really, who seemed to drop their books in front of him so frequently that he once worried he had been subconsciously casting a nonverbal spell making it happen. There had been dates, and kissing, and, on a handful of occasions, more than kissing. And it was...fine, really. Just fine.

He could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen his parents embrace, and even then, it would still add up to more than the amount of times they had embraced _him_. Sometimes he wondered, even when he was so many miles away from London, about the lasting effect that it had on him. It was as though he was still a child who had tripped on his way up the stairs, crouched against the banister crying, and in pain, knowing no one would come to console him. He wondered if he was perhaps incapable of it, if they had created a deficit in him so large he would never be able to fill it. Not with pranks, or laughs, or the hugs his friends gave him that still, sometimes, made him feel a bit uneasy. Maybe he had just never learned how.

But he had learned many things he had previously thought impossible. Pausing over the last item on his list, he stared at the “ _?”_ with his tongue between his teeth. No, there was no question about it. He lifted his wand and with a swish, the question was gone.

* * *

The Common Room was blissfully empty when Sirius stumbled in, his copy of War and Peace held in one hand and a pastry in the other.

He had just left the kitchens, as the idea of another apple turnover from dinner was too tempting to pass up. There was something about the crispy skin and the sweetly spiced apple that made him think of autumn, of coming home. Settling on the plush sofa in front of the fire, he opened the book with a small sigh. Time to start. Again. 

He had somehow forgotten, in his quest to feel accomplished, that this book would be about, well, _war_. It made him feel a bit uneasy, reading about this far off conflict from so many years ago. Would someone sit down to write a book about now, he thought, about what he and his friends were fighting for?

He continued to read, eyes skimming over the words. This really was such a long book, and he was growing tired. He finished off the last of his turnover, licking the sticky crumbs off of his fingers. It was drafty in the tower, the temperature dropping as the fall went on, but very cosy in front of the fire. The comfort of the sofa underneath him coupled with the warmth seemed to drain all of the energy out of him. He felt as if could fall asleep right there, as he read of Pierce and Andrei’s conversation.

_“If no one fought except on his own conviction, there would be no wars.”_

If only. He set the book on his chest for a moment, hoping to give his eyes a bit of a rest. He was nearly dozing now, and he thought he better retire up the stairs to his wind chilled room. At least there would be blankets there, and it was often hard to get a good night’s sleep without the comforting sound of James’s rumbling snore, though he would never admit that out loud. But it was so warm and toasty next to the fire. Perhaps he could stay there for just a few more moments...

“Has Tolstoy bored you that much?”

Startled, Sirius jumped off the couch, War and Peace flying off his chest and landing with a small thump onto the ground. He was never one to do well with being woken up unexpectedly. Looking around to find the source of his terror, his search ended as he found Remus staring at him, a bemused smile on his lips.

“I was just resting my eyes,” he replied breezily, as he reached down to snatch the book off the floor. Straightening up, he ran a hand down his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles that had gathered from his impromptu nap.

“Looked like you were just resting, full stop,” Remus answered, the small smile still on his face, while he walked over to the couch and set a roll of parchment and his charms book on the table.

Sirius eyed the books with familiar, if not exasperated, fondness. “Are you honestly thinking of revising at this hour, Moony?” He sat down next to him on his former makeshift bed, suddenly feeling very energized after his scare. Only Remus could be interested in studying charmwork after midnight.

“Couldn’t sleep.” The smile had left his face as he opened up his book, a look of annoyance turning his mouth to a thin line. He turned to a chapter on nonverbal magic. “James really should put a silencing spell around his bed, it’s unearthly the sounds that he makes.”

Sirius hummed in response, as he toyed with the hem of his t-shirt. The familiar nervous energy was bubbling around him again as he scanned the chapter Remus had laid out in front of them on the table. “Nonverbal spells?”

“Yeah, I think I’m getting the hang of it. But one can never do with enough practice,” Remus murmured, as he trailed one finger over the text in the book before turning to his parchment to begin his note taking.

“It would probably be best to practice with your wand, rather than your quill,” Sirius suggested, taking his own out of his jeans pocket and raising it in front of him. If he concentrated enough, on the magic in the room and around them, channeling it into his body, into himself, he knew it could happen. Determination, he thought, was always the key when you wanted something badly enough.

A small light gleamed from the tip of his wand, illuminating the room in a blue glow. It was an easy spell, one they had learned in first year and had to utilize many times while traipsing around the castle during all hours of the night. But it was different, now. Doing it without words, accomplishing it without saying anything at all. It was marvelous, to feel the power the universe held around them, and to know that he could channel it into anything he wanted.

Or at the least, into a simple light-creation spell.

“Things don’t always come as easy to the rest of us, Padfoot,” Remus grumbled, as he continued to take his notes. Sirius thought in that moment and many after that this was Remus’s biggest problem. Always taking the cautious route, always too afraid to just _try_ something.

“I don’t think you’ll have any problem, Moony. You got 10 OWLs, more than any of the rest of us,” Sirius tried to reassure him, but he could tell it hadn’t worked as Remus squared his shoulders and stared intently at the book in front of him. Suddenly, the light from his wand extinguished itself, leaving them in only the amber glow of the fire.

“It really doesn’t matter though, does it?” Remus didn’t look up from his note taking, continuing to inscribe in his perfect penmanship as the fire flickered and cast shadows on his face. “Doesn’t change the fact that even if I were to get 10 bloody Outstandings on my NEWTs, I’ll be an unemployable dark creature. A danger to society.”

Sirius swallowed around the lump that had suddenly gathered in his throat as Remus paused his writing a moment. He turned his face from the parchment to look up at Sirius with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“But at least I’ll have done it, you know? At least I’ll have that." 

“Remus…” he started, staring at the floor, not really knowing where he was going, but wanting to offer something, a small comfort in the face of an unjust world.

“You’re not a danger to society,” he continued, turning his face to look at Remus, who ducked his head and stared as intently at his lap as he had his notes. “People would be mad not to hire someone as brilliant as you.”

Remus scoffed at that, but had lifted his head to look at Sirius, the same surprised way he always did when his friends didn’t reject him for something beyond his control. It made Sirius sad to think he would be shocked by this measly kindness. And a little guilty. He didn’t feel deserving of any sort of recognition; it was only the decent thing to do. It pained him to think that people could look at this boy in front of him, so full of knowledge, curiosity, bravery, _love_ and think of him as something less than them. Less than human. It angered him.

“And regardless, even if you can’t find a job, it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.” He fixed Remus with a steely gaze, trying with all his might to get him to believe it. Determination, just like with magic.  “It means there’s something wrong with the rest of the world.”

Remus just stared at him, but Sirius could see the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Gathering up his parchment and book, he stood before saying, “Come on. Maybe we can practice a nonverbal muffling spell on James’s bed.”

Sirius barked out a little laugh before standing to join him. They walked over to the stairs in silence, climbing the steps up to where their friends slept peacefully. Once they reached the door, Remus stopped and turned to Sirius again.

“Thanks, Pads,” Remus muttered, his hand resting on the doorknob. “For what you said before.”

“No need,” Sirius replied. There really wasn’t. Remus offered a small smile in response, and opened the door to James’s thunderous snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. This has been the biggest exercise in happiness I've undertaken in a while. Hope you enjoy!


	2. a dream that i can't seem to shake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback, everyone! I'm happy to know people are reading and enjoying and I'm not just shouting out this silly story into the ether of the 'net. Hope you'll like this next part.
> 
> Just a quick warning, Sirius is suffering from a lot of anxiety in this fic. It gets especially heavy in this chapter, and also mentions death and the fear of death (sort of the whole overarching theme of the story). If that sort of thing troubles you, please be kind to yourself and skip it.

Herbology had never been a large interest of Sirius’s, but he was determined to excel in the class and, in a sickening turn of events, _suck up_ to Professor Sprout.

Charming, he was used to. You could even say that he had his hand in some slight (well, maybe more than slight) manipulation of his professors over the years. It was important, as a marauder, to weasel your way out of detention at any opportune moment, by any means necessary.

Sucking up, however, was quite different.

Sirius Black did not suck up to anyone. Not for house points, not for a weighted grade on an assignment he had turned in late, and certainly not the way the Slytherins seemed to, buttering up any teacher who could have the slightest hand in the fate of their future.

But he had made a list, and he planned to see it through.

And so, he finished all of the assigned reading, raised his hand and earned Gryffindor nearly 20 points in one class, and, in a shocking turn of events, volunteered to help clean up after sessions. The later could perhaps be mistaken for a cause of altruism, but in reality had a rather lot of self interest in mind.

“Professor,” Sirius said, on the third time he had stayed behind, as he helped mend broken pots and swept up the dusting of soil on the tables. “As much as I’ve been enjoying your lessons, I think it’s time for me to...branch out in my studies.” He couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh at his own pun.

Resuming with his cleaning, he continued, “I’ve been considering keeping a plant of my own.”

Professor Sprout looked at him with a seemingly knowing smile on her rosy face. “Looking to brew some Knotgrass Mead then, Mr. Black? I can’t say that I’m shocked...I didn’t think that you were particularly interested in helping to tidy up after lessons.”

A bit put off by her response, Sirius tried to keep a polite look on his face. Is this what people really thought of him? As though he would drink Knotgrass Mead...

She cheerfully resumed, looking past his affronted exterior. “It’s not that I necessarily disapprove, of course...unless you have potions in your next period and were trying to skive off.”

“No, that wasn’t what I had in mind,” Sirius hurriedly assured. _Be_ polite _, Sirius,_ he reminded himself. “I’ve a free period now, anyway. I was thinking of something more medicinal. Do you have any dittany sproutlings that I could try my hand at?”

Another knowing look, this time a bit curious, was sent his way, as his professor stalled from organizing her notes. She fixed him with an unsure smile. “Yes, I should have just the thing, Mr. Black, just the thing for you…”

After overwhelming instructions on how to properly take care of his new plant, which Sirius listened to with a resigned necessity (the last seven of his house plants had died a rather quick, but hopefully painless, death), he trudged back up to the castle. Wondering how to explain to Professor Slughorn that his half hour absence had been a necessity, he climbed the steps to his dormitory.    


* * *

 

Smiling unsurely to himself, he placed the dittany on the windowsill, in the direct sunlight, minding what Professor Sprout had told him. He eyed it with a cautious apprehension.

A new life was here, residing a few meters from his clammy hands. Responsibility was what he had been after, when he had thought this a good idea. He wanted to prove to himself that he was capable. But it seemed so daunting, in the present. More than daunting.

He felt a bit silly, at first, when he could feel that familiar itch begin to fall over him, like his skeleton wanted to escape from his skin.  His heart started to thump in his chest, and his breath seemed to catch in his throat.  _It's alright,_ he tried to assure himself.  _Just a plant, Sirius. Get a grip._

But suddenly, the prospect of something as simple as caring for a plant seemed unbearable. Suddenly, irrationally, it seemed terrifying.

Suddenly, his mind raced with a hundred thoughts in a second.

Did the plant have enough sunlight? Would he remember to water it? Would it survive outside of the Greenhouse, without all of the magic hanging heavily in its air? Would he fuck it all up, somehow, in his usual way?

Would this plant die, too, like the rest of them had? Like the Muggleborn couple he had read about, living in Wales, sleeping peacefully in their beds. It was the middle of the night, when they had been taken from the world, as senseless and cruel as lightening striking down an ancient tree. _It's alright. Don't think about that now_ , he thought frantically. But it hadn't left his mind, since he had read it in the Prophet last week. The woman had been pregnant. They had just been married in June. They had both been in Ravenclaw, and Sirius could remember a glimpse of them laughing together in the Great Hall, years ago. They were so _young_. They had so much life ahead of them.

Suddenly, the air in his lungs seemed to escape him. He needed to lie down, and eyeing his four poster, he felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit him.

He lay his heads on his pillows, willing his heart to stop racing, concerned that it would beat right out of his chest. Grabbing his wand with a shaking hand, he spelled the curtains shut.

A million emotions played in an overture over his whirling mind - sadness, for the people who were dying senselessly. Guilt, for not being able to protect them. Fear, that the same would happen to his friends, to himself. Shame, for feeling so afraid.

 _Bugger it all,_ he thought, as he slipped out of his body and into Padfoot's. After a moment, he fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming in black and white of the Great Hall, and a young couple holding hands, smiling.

* * *

 

“Do you plan to sleep your whole life away, or are you only shooting for the rest of seventh year?”

Sirius transformed, and peered from his half shut human eyes to find James, standing next to his bed and staring down at him with a disapproving look. The sun was still out, the light nearly blinding him as it seeped through the now open curtains. It felt uneasy, for the sun to still be out, as though his earlier thoughts should have carried him away with them into the darkness of the night.

“Only if every dream is of you, Prongs,” he muttered, hoping the uncertainty in his voice could be masked with a joke.

Apparently not having noticed any uneasiness, James tutted. “You couldn’t handle me, even in your dreams.”

“I think we both know it’s the other way around,” Sirius rubbed his eyes and then yawned, stretching into an upright position. He supposed his sleep had chased off the worst of it, but another worry crossed into his mind. “Have I missed lunch?”

“No, but it’s best to keep a low profile. I had to tell Slughorn that you were feeling ill and came back here to rest. I don’t know if he believed me -- actually, he definitely didn’t believe me. ” James looked at him with annoyance over the rim of his glasses. “He asked why you weren't in the infirmary if you were sick, and I had to tell him that you weren’t feeling _that_ ill and wanted to keep a bed free for another student, in case of emergency. He looked at me as if I was the biggest ponce in the world. Probably my worst work yet.”

“Well, he wasn’t that far off. Becoming Head Boy  _has_ made you go soft,” Sirius sighed, finally getting out of bed and tugging his robes back on. “Sorry, mate. Had a bit of a late night. I’ll just do my best to look queasy then, keep Snape in my line of sight. That ought to put me off the whole meal.”

James laughed, the look of annoyance dissipating from his face. He could never stay cross with Sirius for too long. He slung his arms around his friend’s shoulders as they headed together towards the Great Hall.

“What were you doing up so late anyway?” James asked, as they climbed out of the portrait hole and hurried down the corridor. “Are you having an affair? And after all the promises we made to one another.” James sighed dramatically as Sirius rolled his eyes.

“I realized you were a ride that I wouldn’t survive,” Sirius replied, a bit more breezily now as he walked with James. The prospect of a good meal always brightened his spirits. “Anyway, I was reading. I’m trying to make it through _War and Peace,_ dreadfully long as it is.”

“Interesting. And here I thought I was walking next to Sirius Black. Your potion work has really improved, Moony, top marks. How’d you manage to brew the Polyjuice all on your own?”

“Prat. I’ll have you know I am a fan of many fine things, chief among them being literature, but your arse ranks rather high as well.” Sirius grinned. “Pity I know my limits.”

“As much as I’d like to continue discussing my arse…” James fixed Sirius with a searching gaze. “What’s with your sudden delve into the realm of classical literature?” Sirius returned his gaze with a look, annoyance spreading over his features. Prongs never knew when to leave well enough alone.

“Did I miss the moment where I suddenly became transfigured into an ogre? I just wanted to read a book. I didn’t realize it was so out of the realm of possibility.”

James simply rolled his eyes at him and continued, “It’s not as though I think you’re illiterate, Pads. You’ve just never expressed much interest before. You made fun of me for weeks for reading _Pride and Prejudice_.”

“Well, I’d never succumb to reading something quite so girly,” Sirius started, but it did nothing to stop James’s curious state. He trudged on with a sigh. “I’m a bit of an enigma, Prongs. At least, that’s what the ladies tend to say.” James stopped and turned to him, the look on his face turning to one of concern.

“Is everything alright?”

“Of course everything’s alright. The sun is shining, I managed to sleep through potions, and we’re off to have a delicious meal. If we make it on time, that is, before they’ve cleared it off.” His mood was beginning to turn from a benign annoyance to a more sour anger. “Seeing as how we’re standing in the corridor having a useless discussion.”

“Padfoot,” James said, all measured nerves and composure. Sirius stared at him, irritated by his attempts at diplomacy. “I can tell something’s been bothering you, and I know you’d rather make jokes and act like a tosser than discuss it, but. You don’t have to be like that.”  He placed his hand on to the arm of Sirius’s rob in an attempt of reassurance, but his skin underneath it tingled with discomfort. “Not with me.”

Sirius often wondered what it would be like to grow up as James had, with parents who loved him. Parents who adored him, really, who never made him feel the slightest bit inadequate. Never having to question his place in the world. From the moment he was born he knew who he was going to be, from their first interaction on the train he had no doubt of where he would be sorted. He breezed through life; overwhelmingly charismatic, often kind, always brave. He was a quidditch champion, and even though he had had his fair share of detention, professors adored him, and classmates envied him.

In a small part of himself that Sirius didn’t like to admit existed, _he_ envied James. He couldn’t be more grateful to him, to his family, for welcoming him with open arms. The bigger part of himself knew that it wasn’t a small task to care for people the way James did, never judgemental, always looking to help, to find out what was wrong and try his best to fix it.

He wished he knew how to love people like that, and how to accept that love when it was so easily offered to him.

“Sorry, Prongs,” he finally said, guilt dripping from his short words. “I don’t mean to be so snippy. I just have had a rather lot on my mind lately, I suppose.”

“You’re not the only one, Sirius,” James ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that set to make Sirius feel more guilty. He didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to add onto the long tab of things James had done for him. “But don’t stay for too long in that big head of yours, alright?” He jostled Sirius on the shoulder as he passed a friendly smile onto him, and Sirius eased into it, returning it with one of his own. “You can always talk to me about whatever’s troubling you.”

“All that Jane Austen really has turned you into a sensitive creature,” Sirius teased, but he could feel the seriousness of James’s words and he didn’t want to dismiss them. “Thank you. I’ll keep it mind, my _big head_ has room to spare.”

“There’s a lad. Alright, time to get a move on. Let’s see if Peter’s left us anything to eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know, dittany is a magical herb used to heal wounds. 
> 
> I originally didn't plan for this to get quite so heavy, but like anxiety in real life, it sometimes just creeps up on you. I hope it wasn't too out of place!


End file.
